


negotiations

by bevcrushers (dothraloki)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: (but only a little) - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraloki/pseuds/bevcrushers
Summary: "If I didn't know any better,” says Harry, “I’d say you were trying to provoke me.""Mm, ‘provoke’ is such an ugly word," Tom parries. His gaze drops down to Harry’s mouth. "But is it working?"-tom's feeling a little restless.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit self-indulgent. i mostly wrote it as a quick piece to get some ideas out as i'm struggling to re-edit a couple of my other stories. 
> 
> rated this M because while there's no actual sex there's plenty of innuendo.

Tom’s feeling restless. Though, if you asked Harry, he’d probably say ‘restless’ was an understatement. ‘Obnoxious’, maybe, ‘irritating’ perhaps, ‘like a coiled spring ready to unload at any minute, all tension and bundled up energy’ is probably more accurate.

See, they’d been orbiting Carbovke-II for the last week-and-a-half, which means he’s been _sitting on his_ _ass_ for the past week-and-a-half. Being a pilot means during times like these he’s basically superfluous. So he spends all day, every day, alternating between getting yelled at by the Doctor for not putting the medical instruments back in the right place, or lingering around at these endless diplomacy dinners.

It’s therefore a testament to his self-control that there’s only the slightest hint of a whine in his voice when he beelines over to Harry who’s circling the entrées, and asks, “How long 'til we can get out of here?"

Harry rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious,” he says, as he bring his glass of wine up to his lips. “If I have to hear the words _trade deal_ one more time -”

“Yeah well, the Captain wants us to be here,” says Harry. Then after a pause, "If we get through this dinner, I'll make it up to you."

Tom raises his eyebrows at that. He doubts Harry’s mind is currently rolling around the gutter along with his own, but he can’t help himself. If there’s one thing guaranteed to hold his interest, it’s a little harmless flirtation.

He tilts his head, half watching Harry. “Oh yeah? And how are you going to make it up to me?”

“Remember Saturday night?" Harry asks.

Tom’s eyes widen as a sudden flush of warmth runs through him at the memory. A barely-there smirk twitches at the corner Harry’s mouth. Okay - so maybe Tom _had_ underestimated him.

"I see what you're doing,” he says.

“Do you?”

"It isn't going to work."

Harry blinks at him, amused. "Isn't it?"

Tom runs his tongue along teeth, takes another swig of wine. Then he leans in over the sound of chatter, "You know, two can play at that game.”

Harry looks at him, all heat. A flicker of a challenge in his eyes.

“I mean really I’m just thinking of you,” Tom says, affecting concern.

“Uh huh.”

“See, I know you have that long schedule next week and I just thought…”

“You just thought?”

Tom shrugs. "That maybe you'd like to take advantage of your downtime. Y'know. Other things you'd like to be doing. _R_ _ight now._ "

Harry shifts his gaze, looking straight ahead.

But Tom leans in closer to mumur in his ear, "I mean, the night's young. There's at least four hours before we'd need to turn in," he pauses, intention in his next words. "Four hours is an awful lot of time."

" _Tom._ " A low warning. Heat pools in his stomach.

"I’m just saying, when you’re busy like that, I know how much you tend to _miss me_."

There’s a sudden burst of applause in the room, and they both scramble to join in.

"If I didn't know any better,” says Harry, “I’d say you were trying to provoke me."

"Mm, ‘provoke’ is such an ugly word," Tom parries. His gaze drops down to Harry’s mouth. "But is it working?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that."

Tom just smiles at him. “Sweetheart, I’m just getting started."

Harry’s jaw tightens. There are two spots of color high on his cheeks. They watch each other for a moment, unmoving.

Then Tom says. "I was just thinking about your quarters, and how there are _quite a few_ spots we haven't broken in yet."

Harry chokes on his sip of wine.

"The couch, the desk,” he pauses. "The table."

" _Tom._ "

Tom paints on an innocent expression. Bats his eyelashes, “what?” He’s laying it on a little thick, a little butter-wouldn’t-melt, but Harry’s biting his lip anyway.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says. “Fifteen minutes, then whatever you want -"

Tom snorts. “The whole wine and candles ordeal, huh?"

"No, I was thinking up against the nearest wall, that's more your preference, isn't it?" He turns abruptly as one of the alien visitors approaches them, and extends a hand, “Hi there."

Tom swallows thickly and shifts in place - he’s so very lucky that they’re wearing their dress uniforms. Harry goes right for the usual small talk, but Tom can’t blink back the ebb of arousal quickly enough to recover. And as they talk, Harry's hand rests on the small of his back, tracing invisible shapes against the material. It’s nothing lewd, just the ghost of a touch but Tom barely resists the urge to lean into the sensation. Harry hides it better, but he’s keyed up too, Tom can tell by the jumping muscle in his jaw. And the moment the alien leaves, the pretence falls away like smoke and he rounds on Tom with dark eyes.

“Let’s get out here,” he says, in a voice that’s sandpaper rough.

Tom tucks his victory into his smirk, and without argument, lets Harry steer him out of the mess hall.


End file.
